


Best in the worst

by ThaiKhue



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 12:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12481216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThaiKhue/pseuds/ThaiKhue
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry went to all lengths to save Snape's life and clear his name. Now he is asking his teacher for a long due apology.





	1. A new page

The moment the judge declares "free of all charges", the courtroom explodes in applause and Snape suddenly finds himself in a breath-squeezing hug.

"POTTER!," he yells.

The brat does well to release him before being brushed off. In a blink, Snape's eyes catch a familiar form in a far corner who seems to be struggling to decide which direction to go. He quietly tells Potter and the others - the team who have been working to patch him up and clear his name after the Battle of Hogwarts:

"Please excuse me for a moment."

Snape briskly elbows his way towards the corner. The blond young man is now standing still and staring at his approaching former teacher.

"H... hello, sir," he finally utters, long after Snape has arrived in front of him.

"Hello, Draco."

Silence endures when Draco takes a thorough look at his once favourite teacher, his Head of House, the professor who was an evil bat to all the other kids meanwhile spoiling him to no end.

"I... I have been searching for you," he says with a shaking voice.

"I know," Snape gently nods. "Potter knew, and he told me. But I couldn't see you. I was paralyzed to my bed and had been in hiding up until yesterday. I..."

"Potter...," Draco interrupts. "I could do nothing for you all this time. Potter, he hided you, he protected you, he healed you and vouched for you. Meanwhile I..."

"Yes, he did. He did help me because he could. You were in a different situation, Draco, you shouldn't blame yourself," Snape comforts.

Draco sighs and drops his head to hide the streak of tears strolling down.

"How are you now, sir?"

"I am fine. Will you be back to school for your seventh year?"

"I was expelled, sir."

It is not surprising, but Snape is taken by surprise nevertheless.

"It was ruled by the court. Professor McGonagall tried to help me, but failed."

"I see."

Snape sighs. Fire has ceased, but they, the war survivors, still have plenty of aftermath to deal with.

"If you do want to take your NEWTs, I can tutor you. All subjects. You can take it as a free candidate."

Draco raises his eyes to meet his teachers', speechless. There again he is having that reassuring nod and the reassuring voice:

"From tomorrow I will be back at my home in Cokeworth. Come any time. Just send me an owl in advance."

"Thank you, sir."

The crowd in the courtroom has long dismissed, leaving only them two and the group standing with Potter in another corner. Draco sighs again:

"I won't take more of your time, sir. I will owl you later."

With that he disappears behind the dark, heavy iron doors.

All those months Snape has been longing for the moment he can finally leave Number 12 Grimmauld Place, preferrably forever, and today he thought he would do exactly that right after the last dinner with Potter and the ones who have helped him. Yet he ends up staying for another cup of tea next to the fireplace with Potter, of all people.

"So," Snape says silkily, "Harry Potter is back to public life again. When are you starting your Auror training?"

"Not any time soon, sir. It might have escaped your notice but I kind of played truant the whole seventh year. I have to go back to school now to make up for that, unless you are going to come back as the headmaster and decide to expel me for good," Potter smirks, defiantly as ever.

"I have been labouring under the impression that the Ministry of Magic cannot care less whether Auror Potter has his NEWTs or not?"

"I have given up the Auror thing. I have had enough of fighting, sir," Potter sighs, dancing flames reflected on he lens of his glasses.

"What career are you going to grace with your pursuit now, then?"

"I plan to apply to the Academy of Healing Arts. I want to become a Healer."

"Healer?," Snape raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

Potter doesn't answer, only sighs.

"I asked Professor McGonagall. She permitted me to come back. Now if you are going to come back and reclaim your headmaster position, then I will ask you," he smirks again, still defiantly as ever.

"I have never seen you willing to put that much effort into Potions."

Potter puts down his tea cup and reaches for something on the fireplace mantel. It is an old notebook. He opens its at the first page and hands it to Snape.

Snape frowns at the lines of childish handwriting:

_Bewitch the mind_

_Ensnare the scenes_

_Brew glory_

_Put stopper in death_

"In case you have forgotten," Potter speaks as if he wanted to drill each and every word into his former teacher, "that was your opening speech for first year's Potions class, and the page you are looking at is the notes I was passionately taking while you spoke. In case you have forgotten again, you reprimanded me for not paying attention, which was and has always been a false accusation."

Snape rolls his eyes. He should definitely have left long ago and saved himself the trouble of facing this. He opens his mouth, intending to inform Potter that it was not the only false accusation he ever made in his entire teaching career, but he shuts it. Totally against his will, he says instead:

"I apologize."

"No, you are not forgiven."

Before Snape can even think of a reaction, Potter looks him straight in the eyes and dictates:

"You must right your wrong, by action. You must compensate for five years of pleasant Potions lessons that you unjustly denied me. You must help me enter the Academy of Healing Arts. Help me become a Healer."

Snape quietly closes the old notebook in his hands, bearing the look of those emerald eyes.

"Please, sir," Potter nods, both his voice and his face turning serious.

The deal is marked with a thwack to the back of the cheeky brat's head with his own Potions notebook.


	2. School opening

 

The Great Hall falls into dead silence within half a second when Snape steps up to the headmaster's podium. His eyes make a thorough scan through the student body, causing a wave of dramatic tension. Once most students have properly held their breaths, he starts the speech.

"First year students will assemble here tomorrow morning to learn the school regulations. This evening, the prefects are responsible for giving them basic instructions on the dormitory regulations."

He drops a pause for another dose of dramatic tension.

"The school board have received a petition from the N.E.W.T. level students asking for extra support for their preparation to apply to the Academy of Healing Arts. The reason stated is that the unfortunate... loss... and unwanted experiences from the war have motivated them to pursue a career in the Healing Arts. Recognizing it as proper motivation worthy of encouragement and support, the school board have decided to organize special N.E.W.T. level classes in Potions, Herbology and Charms to exclusively serve said students. Application forms can be found in the common rooms and are to be returned to the Heads of House tomorrow morning."

Conversations break out at that, only to be shut down in one single minute by the famous Snape glare.

"From this year, Professor McGonagall will be the Headmistress of Hogwarts."

Despite Snape still standing there, the hall explodes in cheers and applause. He doesn't bother to stop it; instead, he patiently waits for it to end by itself. Once the noise has settled, he lazily delivers the last piece of announcement:

"Professor Slughorn has once more retired. I will take over his position as the Potions professor and Head of Slytherin. For the time being I will also teach Defense Against the Dark Arts until the school find another teacher for the subject."

Without another glance at his audience, he steps down, once again in peace, having nothing to worry about other than drilling Potions into the dunderheads... And Defense Against the Dark Arts too, of course. The difference is that today he no longer has to pretend to have been a failed applicant for the position. It can finally be known that he never had any intention to apply for it whatsoever; all was an excessively long and tiring lie Dumbledore made up and he had to play along. For the greater good.

Once again, his eyes secretly search for a certain brat in the midst of the Gryffindors, only to be shocked by what he gets back, after all these years. The brat is grinning at him, from one ear to another.


	3. On the Astronomy Tower

"Congratulations."

Snape says without turning around; he remains still, staring into the wind whipping against the top of the Astronomy Tower. Soon enough, Potter joins him on his side.

"Thanks to your help."

Snape doesn't reply. In the past one year alone he has received more thanks than the rest of his life put together. And he is not accustomed to that.

"How have your old wounds been?"

"They are fine. Although, of course, it can't be the same as it used to be."

Snape knows his health and strength will never be the same as they used to be. He is no longer a young man, and the war did squeeze the last drop of life out of him. Almost the last.

That was why he never asked Dumbledore how he should proceed once the war ended. He never thought he would survive.

He was not keen on surviving, either.

"I hope I - or someone - will find a way to heal them completely."

"What's for? I'm already old; there's not much time left anyway."

"For Merlin's sake," Potter exclaims, "you haven't even reached forty yet. Don't be riddiculous."

That earns the brat a half-hearted glare, which he ignores. He switches topic:

"I want to keep in touch with you. May I?"

"If I say no, will that stop you?"

Potter giggles. Snape tries to sound grudging:

"I can't stop you from owling me or... whatever. But be aware that replies are not guaranteed."

Potter smiles. The last beams of sunlight of the day fade into the sunset, capturing the two figures at the top of the Astronomy Tower.


	4. Light in the Dark

Violently rolling back the excessively long letter, Snape throws a handful of Floo powder into his fireplace and dictates:

"Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London."

The moment he storms out of the fire, his rant immediately begins:

"Last time I checked, you are no longer a Hogwarts student, Mr Potter. You are now attending the Academy of Healing Arts, where, if I may add, you have your own professors. Why in the good name of Merlin would you..."

"We are helpless, sir...," Potter interrupts, his voice so quiet that even the Snape rant has to cool down. He tries hard to hold back a drop of tears, and fails at that. "The Healers of St Mungo are helpless. So are the professors at the Academy."

"And what makes you think I can do anything about a case that challenges both St Mungo's Healers and your professors?," Snape spits out.

Emerald eyes rise to meet Snape's; the young man's tearful voice tears into the deepest corner of his mind:

"They don't understand the Dark Arts, sir."

All what Snape wants to do for all he cares is to throw the roll of parchment at the brat's face and leave. Yet, after a long silence, he sighs heavily:

"To my house."

Hours later, in the basement laboratory of Snape's house, the Potions professor and the Healer apprentice hold their breath as the former raises a flask to check in the light of the candles. Potter's eyes brighten as they both realize the potion has turned out the way they need it to turn out.

"Don't say a word about me when you bring that to the hospital," Snape says while Potter is gathering his notes and the potion samples.

"I won't, sir... But I think all St. Mungo Healers and my professors do know you anyway..."

"Don't. Mention. A. Word. About. Me," Snape hisses.

"Er... well, yes, sir."

"Have you had dinner?," Snape switches topic.

"No, sir..."

"And do you have it ready at home?"

Potter scratches the back of his head. Snape sighs. The idiot still stubbornly refuses to own a house elf and lives like a random lower middle class young wizard despite being the Heir of both the Potter and the Black lines.

"To the living room, and wait there for a moment."

Snape floos back to his quarters at Hogwarts, orders a quick combination of dinner and supper and less than five minutes later delivers it to the hungry brat in his house's living room.

"Eat, and then see yourself off. I have to get back to school."

"Thank you, sir," Potter beams with his last drops of energy.

Half a step into the fireplace, Snape says over his shoulder:

"Next time only owl me a brief explanation. I will give you time and date to see me here."

Without further delay, he disappears in the dancing flames.


	5. Unnamable

"I'm afraid there is no way, Potter."

"There must be. There must be one way or another," Harry fidgets restlessly in the wornout armchair, his hands messing his hair to all directions, too-much-James-Potter-to-Snape's-liking.

Snape distracts himself by turning his back to the brat and walking towards the liquor shelf:

"Firewhisky?"

"No, thank you, sir."

Harry replies absentmindedly and continues to fidget behind the back of Snape, who is now standing facing the window, the glass of firewhisky spinning in his hand. Harry stands up, paces around, sighs, messes up his hair, sighs again, paces more, sits down, stands up...

"Sit still for the love of Merlin, Potter!," Snape barks.

The noise abruptly ends. Harry knows it means his teacher's mind is working and he had better shut up and keep quiet. Like it or not, Healers of his generation who attended Hogwarts tend to share a syndrome that they call "Snapephobia chronic compulsive obedience".

Obediently, Harry sits down and watches Snape spinning the glass of firewhisky in a rythm that reflects the flow of his mind. Five minutes later, he briskly puts down the glass and heads towards the basement door without another word. Harry follows him to the laboratory.

They work in absolute silence, drown in the sound of their own breaths, of lab equipments hitting each other and quill tips scratching on parchment. As midnight approaches, to their delights, the solution comes clear. Snape holds out the potion sample that has just been finalized:

"To be used in combination with Occlumency, if you see what I mean."

Harry nods, his eyes staring at the newly brewed sample, full of hope.

"Given the nature of Occlumency," Snape continues, "it is of paramount importance that the patient be well informed and fully understand how the resolution will work before taking the very first step. And, as always, I must emphasize that you treat this with caution. Careful and repeated experiments are required before any attempts on real patients..."

"Yes, sir," Harry replies assuringly. "I will hold a consultancy."

"And don't mention a word about me."

"Yes, sir, although I still don't understand why you insist..."

"I am not a Healing professional. I merely help you as a random potioneer, which I am. I don't want to draw public attention."

"Almost everyone at St Mungo already knows you anyway."

"You will keep your mouth shut, or else never so much as set foot in anywhere near my house again."

"Yes, sir," Harry surrenders, and fails to hide a yawn.

"There is food in the kitchen for the dinner that you will not skip," Snape says in a commanding voice.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Harry tiredly replies.

They make their way out of the laboratory and as Harry enters the kitchen, Snape turns the other way to the living room. With a quiet wand movement, he transfigures one of the armchairs into an average excuse for a guest bed. He knows after swallowing the much needed dinner, the brat will simply doze off. He has to go to work early tomorrow after all.


	6. Phoenix Tears

"Please, sir."

"Need I remind you how old you are, Mr Potter? Way too old for this nagging."

"I mean it. I hope you agree to help me..."

"Seems like I can never help you enough, can I?"

The brat resorts to his legendary hair messing. Snape sighs.

"For the last time Potter, it may come as a shock to you but I am not a healing professional and have never been. It's beyond me as to why you why you insist..."

"You know why, sir. What you have is not qualifications. I need you. The patients need you."

Snape sighs more heavily and quietly stands up, making his way to the liquor shelf.

"Firewhisky?"

"No, sir. Thank you."

Holding his glass, the old man proceeds to the ever dusty window, one with nothing sort of a pleasant view whatsoever. Harry watches him from the back, feeling a twist in his stomach. Time has passed so fast he has never noticed his teacher growing that much grey hair.

"You sincerely want to tie my fate to the Dark Arts, Potter?," says Snape, his voice sounding like an echo from the far past.

"I didn't mean that, sir. I'm sorry."

Harry stands up, pours himself a glass firewhisky and joins his teacher at the window. Without a glance at him, Snape asks:

"What do you name the hospital?"

"Well, I sort of intend to consult you about that too..."

"Me again?," Snape exclaims with great annoyance.

Harry grins at the glare he receives. Snape lets out another sigh.

"Phoenix," he says quietly, his eyes brought back to the window view.

Harry pauses to think for a moment, then asks:

"Phoenix Tears?"

"Phoenix. Seriously, I suppose you are pathetic at Potions only, it turns out you are pathetic at naming a hospital also."

Harry chuckles:

"I was just thinking you were refering to... my tears."

"Were your tears remotely similar to phoenix tears, all patients would have been saved."

Harry quietly spins his glass.

"I have come up with of your title though. You will be the Chief Potionologist. Phoenix Hospital's Chief Potionologist."

That earns him another glare.

"Which part of 'no' confused you, Healer Potter? I don't accept your offer, and I never will. How about writing that lines 100 times to hopefully drill it into your thick skull?"

However, at the end of that summer, after the final staff meeting, Draco sees the former Potion Master to the gate of Hogwarts.

"I wish you the best, Professor Malfoy," Severus tells him with almost a smile. "Take very good care not to let the dunderheads blow up the castle."

Draco chuckles:

"Yes, sir. And I hope Potter won't annoy you too much."

"Greatly and constanly, I assure you."

Snape looks back again at the white tomb on the school ground before walking away, into the sunset.


	7. The Chief Potionologist

The office door is pushed open and immediately slammed shut again. The office chair makes a loud sound when the man throws himself onto it.

The next sound Snape hears is that annoying Potter hair messing yet again. He stands up and slides open the divider between their offices. Leaning against the door frame, arms crossed in front of his chest, he asks quietly:

"Who?"

Without removing his face from his palm, Potter answers with a tearful voice:

"Shalev Sauber."

Snape doesn't move, but he is striken from within.

"How long?"

"I think... no more than one week."

The room falls into an eternity of dead silence.

"You had a long day. Go home, take a rest."

Potter continues sobbing; if anything, it is getting harder.

"To save the patient, the healer himself needs to be alive. Go home, take a rest. We will look into it again tomorrow."

Just like a hundred times before, Snape receives no reply. And just like a hundred times before, he returns to his office, violently slamming shut the divider. Not until then does he hear Potter's quiet voice from the other side:

"Will you drop by for dinner with us, sir?"


	8. Albus Severus Potter

_Sir,_

_It's a boy! We name him Albus Severus Potter._

_Please drop by for dinner with us today, sir. If you can't come today, tomorrow we will bring him to visit you._

_Harry_

Snape storms out from the Potter's fireplace, and before he can even open his mouth, the biggest Potter runs down the stairs, beaming from one ear to another and immediately ushers him upstairs. Not until he is standing in front of the Ginny Potter and the new little Potter does he have the chance to start complaining.

"How very honourable to have my name added to the Potter family tree, Mr and Mrs Potter. I..."

He is cut short when all of a sudden, the baby is passed to his arms. That moment, the whole universe falls into a pause.

No one in the room knows it is the first, first time ever Severus Snape holds a baby in his arms. First time ever in all the decades of his life.

It's been ages since the last time he felt so proud, since Draco passed his N.E.W.T.s with flying colours and Lily's son made his way into the Academy of Healing Arts.

The baby blinks. Nothing on earth is important any more.


	9. A chocolate frog card

"Last time I checked, I am paid to give advice on healing issues, not family issues."

"You have been giving me advice on family issues since Albus was born."

"Without extra pay, if I may add. And I don't think it's been that long. Only since the first Potter ever ended up in Slytherin."

"Could have been the second."

Snape raises and eyebrow.

"I have never told you, have I?," Potter slightly frowns. "The Sorting Hat contemplated placing me in Slytherin at first."

Snape pauses for a long moment.

"Interesting."

"But the only thing I knew about Slytherin at that point was Voldemort and the insufferable brat that Malfoy was. I screamed in my head begging it to put me wherever but Slytherin."

Potter smiles... A sad smile.

"Had I been in Slytherin... things could have been different."

Snape is as immobile as a statue.

"What could have been different?"

"You might not have hated me that much."

"I have never hated you, Harry."

Potter goes dumbstruck. Suddenly, the middle-aged healer shrinks back into the little cheeky brat who constantly earned himself countless detentions in the dungeons. He awkwardly studies his own fingers:

"If only I had heard that all those years ago."

He pauses to clear his throat.

"Life could have been very different. Don't you think?"

"There is no use discussing what could have been."

With the expressionless face that he puts up every time he needs to cover an actual face, Snape concentrates extra hard on refilling Potter's glass.

"Think of it. Think of how you interpreted me as a child. Think of what I did that caused you to feel what you felt. Then think of you and your son, how he might be interpreting you and how he might be feeling about what you do. I know there is a big difference though. You love him. I never love you."

Potter bursts into laughter:

"Never dream of it, sir."

"Just a friendly reminder."

Potter amusedly takes a sip from his glass and then pulls out from his pocket a tiny card. He hands it to Snape. Snape's frown grows impossibly deep when he looks at it.

"Lily almost bounced off the wall when she found it in her chocolate frog this morning."

The wizard on the card is unrealistically well groomed, better groomed that the real version of him can ever be. Under his crossed arms, the words read:

_Severus Snape_

_1960_

_Former Professor of Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Current Potionologist in Chief at Phoenix Hospital. Order of Merlin, Second Class for significant contribution as a double agency in both Wizarding Wars and pioneership in applying the Dark Arts to healing practices._

"I will sue them for using my image without permission," he mutters.

The portrait Snape smirks at the real Snape.

All is well.


End file.
